Finch steps back, shielding his eyes because the sun is peeking through the branches, and there is a crack as his foot comes down on a twig. “Bollocks,” he whispers.
“Oh my God. Does that mean you have to streak back to school now?” The look on his face is so funny that I can’t help laughing.
He sighs, drops his head in defeat, and then pulls off his sweater, his shoes, his hat, his gloves, and his jeans, even though it’s freezing out. He hands each item to me until he’s wearing only his boxers, and I say, “Off with them, Theodore Finch. You were the one who said ‘streaking,’ and I believe ‘streaking’ implies full-on nakedness. I believe, in fact, it is the very definition of the word.”
He smiles, his eyes never leaving mine, and, just like that, he drops his boxers. I’m surprised because I only half thought he would do it. He stands, the first real-live naked boy I’ve ever seen, and doesn’t seem one bit self-conscious. He is long and lean. My eyes trace the thin, blue veins of his arms and the outline of muscle in his shoulders and stomach and legs. The scar across his middle is a bright-red gash.
He says, “This would be a helluva lot more fun if you were naked too.” And then he dives into the river, so neatly that he barely disturbs the crane. He cuts through the water with broad strokes, like an Olympic swimmer, and I sit on the bank watching him.
He swims so far, he’s just a blur. I pull out our notebook and write about the wandering crane and a boy with a red cap who swims in winter. I lose track of time, and when I look up again, Finch is drifting toward me. He floats on his back, arms folded behind his head. “You should come in.”
“That’s okay. I’d rather not get hypothermia.”
“Come on, Ultraviolet Remarkey-able. The water’s great.”
“What did you call me?”
“Ultraviolet Remarkey-able. Going once, going twice …”
“I’m fine right here.”
“All right.” He swims toward me until he can stand waist-deep.
“Where were you this time?”
“I was doing some remodeling.” He scoops at the water, as if he’s trying to catch something. The crane stands still on the opposite shore, watching us.
“Is your dad back in town?”
Finch seems to catch whatever he’s looking for. He studies his cupped hands before letting it go. “Unfortunately.”
I can’t hear the fire alarm anymore, and I wonder if everyone’s gone inside. If so, I’ll be counted absent. I should be more worried than I am, especially now that I’ve gotten detention, but instead I sit there on the bank.
Finch swims toward shore and comes walking toward me. I try not to stare at him, dripping wet and naked, so I watch the crane, the sky, anything but him. He laughs. “I don’t guess you’ve got a towel in that enormous bag you carry around.”
“No.”
He dries off with his sweater, shakes his hair at me like a dog so that I get sprayed, and then pulls on his clothes. When he’s dressed again, he shoves his hat into his back pocket and smooths his hair off his face.
“We should go back to class,” I say. His lips are blue, but he’s not even shivering.
“I’ve got a better idea. Want to hear it?” Before he can tell me what it is, Ryan, Roamer, and Joe Wyatt come sliding down the embankment. “Great,” Finch says under his breath.
Ryan comes right over to me. “We saw you take off during the fire alarm.”
Roamer gives Finch a nasty look. “Is this part of the geography project? Are you wandering the riverbed or just each other?”
“Grow up, Roamer,” I say.
Ryan rubs my arms like he’s trying to warm me up. “Are you okay?”
I shrug him off. “Of course I’m okay. You don’t need to check up on me.”
Finch says, “I didn’t kidnap her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Roamer says, “Did he ask you?”
Finch looks down at Roamer. He has a good three to four inches on him. “No, but I wish you would.”
“Faggot.”
“Lay off, Roamer,” I snap at him. My heart is battering away because I’m not sure what’s going to happen here. “It doesn’t matter what he says—you’re just looking for a fight.” I say to Finch, “Don’t make it worse.”
Roamer gets up in his face. “Why are you all wet? Decide to finally shower after all this time?”
“No, man, I’m saving that activity for when I see your mom later.”
Like that, Roamer jumps on Finch, and the two of them go rolling down the bank into the water. Joe and Ryan just stand there, and I say to Ryan, “Do something.”
“I didn’t start this.”
“Well, do something anyway.”
Roamer swings and hits Finch’s face with a thud. He swings again and again, his fist smashing into Finch’s mouth, into his nose, into his ribs. At first Finch isn’t fighting back—he’s just blocking the shots. But then he has Roamer’s arm twisted behind his back, and he’s plunging his head into the water and holding it under.
“Let him go, Finch.”
He either doesn’t hear me or isn’t listening. Roamer’s legs are thrashing, and Ryan has Finch by the collar of his black sweater, and then by the arm, and is pulling on him. “Wyatt, some help here.”
“Let him go.” Finch looks at me then, and for a second it’s like he doesn’t know who I am. “Let him go.” I snap it at him like I’m talking to a dog or a child.
Just like that, he lets him go, straightens, picks Roamer up, and drops him onto the bank, where he lies coughing up water. Finch goes stalking up the hill, past Ryan and Joe and me. His face is bloody, and he doesn’t wait or look back.
I don’t bother going back to school, because the damage is done. Because Mom won’t expect me home yet, I sneak over to the parking lot, unlock Leroy, and ride to the east side of town. I cruise up and down the streets until I find the two-story brick colonial. FINCH, it says on the mailbox.
I knock on the door, and a girl with long black hair answers. “Hey,” she says to me, like she’s not surprised I’m there. “So you must be Violet. I’m Kate.”
I’m always fascinated by how the same genes rearrange themselves across brothers and sisters. People thought Eleanor and I were twins, even though her cheeks were narrower and her hair was lighter. Kate looks like Finch, but not. Same coloring, different features, except for the eyes. It’s strange seeing his eyes in someone else’s face.